


i got me an appetite; now i can taste it

by noodletastic



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Fingering, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-09-02 03:48:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16778992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noodletastic/pseuds/noodletastic
Summary: Before the descent, Abby handed him a set of syringes. “We’ll be on the ground before you even have to use these," she had promised. But they hadn't made it, and the syringes themselves hadn’t made it through the landing; Murphy found them shattered in his pocket after their landing and hadn’t thought of them since.How could Murphy worry about his medicine when he needed to focus on not being murdered by the grounders, the climate, or his own fucking people? His heat had never been an immediate threat, but now it was here, there was nothing to stop it, and no one to help him.





	i got me an appetite; now i can taste it

The ground was made for Murphy. For once, he was free. There were no rules anymore. No one was watching to see if what Murphy did was for the greater good or if it was in accordance with a stringent law. At least, no one was watching that could do a fucking thing about it.

On the ground, Murphy could do whatever he damn well pleased. And he was in luck, because what pleased him also pleased Bellamy. Finally his smart mouth and sharp temper were exactly what the man in charge wanted. What the man in charge needed.

Bellamy didn’t want the bracelets, and as luck would have it, Murphy didn’t want them either. Why would he want those fuckers on the arc to know that the ground was safe? They sent him there to die. Why would he give them the chance to live?

Bellamy wanted someone to keep the rest of the delinquents in line while he went off to do God knows what? As it happened, Murphy had always thought giving orders was more his speed. Within three days, Murphy had his own tent, his own space, and the authority to keep it. The ground was exactly what he deserved.

The pesky ordeal with Wells could have ruined everything, sure. But Bellamy cut the rope, and the kid had come forward as the real murderer. Murphy was in the clear and Charlotte was locked upstairs in the dropship until they figured out what they did with murderers in their new little _society_. The look on the princess’s face when she realized how wrong she had been to accuse him was almost worth the beating he’d taken. And the knowledge that he could cash in that debt with Clarke when it best suited him didn’t sour the deal a bit. 

If Bellamy blamed himself for taking part in Murphy’s near murder, it was only fair.

All the cards were falling in Murphy’s favor. They’d been on the ground for nearly a month. They had managed to build a wall around their camp, every survival bracelet had been taken by donation or force, and daily life had settled into a near monotony that, while similar to life in space, was at least benefiting Murphy.

The only think Murphy was left wanting was Bellamy. He’d taken a liking to him within hours of landing on the ground. But he wasn’t stupid enough to put his new life in jeopardy. Sure, every now and then it seemed like there were a few lingering looks or minor flirtations, but Bellamy was preoccupied by all the girls in the camp who were more than happy to throw themselves at his feet. If that’s what Bellamy liked, Murphy wasn’t the guy for him anyway.

\--

The first sign that something was wrong was the fever. Murphy woke up with chills that wouldn’t quit, his body drenched in sweat. The blankets tucked around him couldn’t dispel the cold biting into his bones. But otherwise, he felt fine. His stomach ached, maybe, but that was easy to ignore. He made himself get up and push through the discomfort.

Mbege was waiting outside of his tent as he crawled out. “Hey,” he greeted.

Murphy gave him a nod, shrugging on his jacket. “Anything interesting?” He nodded his head in the general direction of the rest of the camp, ignoring the fact that his legs felt weak beneath him.

“Not really.” Mbege pushed himself to his feet from where he’d been crouched on a tree stump. “Octavia’s missing. Again.”

Murphy rolled his eyes, taking a sip of water from his canteen to gargle around his mouth. He spit it to the side. “When is she not? Probably off with that grounder again.”

“Bellamy’s not happy.” Mbege tucked his hands into his pockets, tone level. Murphy liked that about him, liked that nothing seemed to shake his resolve. It was a good trait. Alluring, almost.

“When is he?” Murphy smirked and set off towards the rest of camp. The wall had been completed and today, the goal was to finish building their smokehouse. The princess had pointed out that winter was coming, and if they didn’t start saving up meat now, they might have nothing when the frost came.

The first few hours of the day were spent heckling the delinquents assigned to building. Murphy had found that insulting them tended to speed up their work, if not out of fear then out of sheer annoyance. If they couldn’t direct their anger at Murphy, it seemed like they were happy enough to use it to hammer and mud walls.

But by lunch, Murphy’s fever had gotten worse. It was bad enough that it was messing with his head. Everything was swaying in his vision and it was beginning to take actual focus to stay on his feet. He was determined not to let on to whatever illness he was suffering from, doubling down on every insult he hurled and every threat he issued. It wasn’t difficult; there was an itch under skin that he couldn’t shake, leaving him irate.

When they split up for lunch, one of the workers he’d been leveling his anger at specifically gave him a firm shove with his shoulder as he walked past. It sent him teetering back dangerously. He barely caught his feet. By the time Murphy had his feet fully planted again, Mbege had stepped between him and his combatant, one hand curled into his collar. There was a fury normally foreign to Mbege painted across his face.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” he snarled.

The delinquent looked taken-aback, obviously unprepared. “I-”

Mbege shoved him away, baring his teeth as he said, “Watch where you’re fucking going.”

The guy fell to the grass and scrambled back to his feet, stumbling away with apologies flying from his mouth.

Mbege didn’t turn to face Murphy again until the delinquent was out of sight, and when he did, he ran his hands down Murphy’s arms. It was far more intimate contact than they usually engaged in. Alarms were going off in Murphy’s head even as his body relaxed into Mbege’s touch. “You okay?” Mbege asked, and he was close, so close, his breath hot on Murphy’s cheeks.

Murphy’s knees felt liquid, and his stomach turned in a familiar way - and all at once Murphy realized what was happening. He stepped away from Mbege quickly, brushing his shoulder off. “Fine,” he snapped. “I’m going to my tent.”

“I’ll come,” Mbege said, stepping forward to follow him.

“Fuck off,” Murphy snapped, unable to be diplomatic as the awareness of his circumstances set in. He shoved past Mbege, heading back to his tent as quickly as he could.

He ran into Bellamy halfway there. Bellamy was on the warpath, tension clenching his fists at his sides. “Murphy,” he growled.

Murphy felt the word in his gut, a wave of pleasure outweighing his panic for just a moment. “What?” he snapped, trying to refocus on Bellamy.

Bellamy’s anger fell away to a look of consideration, his eyes roaming over Murphy. “...Octavia got out again,” he said finally. “There’s a hole in your fence.”

Murphy glowered, anger coming quick. “Fuck you, there’s a hole in my fence.”

“Then you tell me how she keeps getting out,” Bellamy snapped, crossing his arms. His gaze was still searching, his nostrils flaring as he scented the air. Murphy leaned back away from him, mirroring Bellamy’s stance.

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

“There’s a _hole_ in your _fence_ ,” Bellamy repeated, tone halting sharply.

“There’s not a fucking hole.” Murphy glowered. “Maybe one of the guards is letting her slip out.”

“So it’s one of your guards, then.” Bellamy’s brow rose and he looked up at Murphy’s face, locking eyes with him. “Interesting.”

Murphy felt scalded under his stare, a chill quivering down his spine. He had to clench his jaw against the instinct to look away. The world around Murphy was still swirling, but Bellamy was cast into sharp relief. And he knew why.

“Our guards,” Murphy corrected. “It’s probably her friends,” he added, frustrated when his voice came out weaker than he wanted it to. “Jasper or Monty or Finn. Now will you get out of my fucking way?” He stepped forward, forcing his voice to stay steady. He broke eye contact despite himself. “I feel like shit, I’m taking the rest of the day off.”

“They wouldn’t let her out,” Bellamy deflected. He sounded distracted, his eyes once more roaming over Murphy’s body. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Hangover.” Murphy grit his teeth, body swaying in place. He could feel Bellamy’s eyes like a physical touch and he felt like his body was on fire but- he needed to move. He had to get away from people, away from Bellamy. He stepped around him, terrified that if he waited one more moment he wouldn’t be able to walk away at all. 

“Hold on-”

“Fuck off,” he snapped. He didn’t look back and Bellamy didn’t follow him, which he knew was a blessing even though it felt like a curse. He made it all the way back to his tent and threw himself inside. He tied the straps with numb fingers. As soon as it was done, he collapsed back onto his bed roll and immediately began taking off his clothes, constricted and over hot and _angry._

Angry more than anything else, because this wasn’t supposed to happen. It had never happened before and- fuck.

\---

Before they made the descent, he’d had one final medical exam. Everyone had to have them, presumably so they could make sure that whatever killed them on Earth wasn’t a pre-existing condition.

“How have you been feeling, John?” Abby asked. She lifted the back of his shirt and he breathed deep and long so that she could listen to his lungs.

‘Fine,” he drawled, staring at the blank wall in front of him. It could have been any other wall of the ship. It looked just like the room he had grown up in and just like the cell where he had been left to rot.

“Good. No cold symptoms? A bug as been going around the ship, and with your weak lungs-”

“I said I feel fine,” he interrupted, looking back at her. “Are we done?”

Abby looked at him thoughtfully, stepping around the table to stand in front of him. “There’s one last thing,” she said after a moment. “We need to talk about your condition.”

“My lungs are fine. I haven’t gotten sick in-”

“Not that condition,” Abby corrected. She looked down at her datapad, scrolling through the pages. “Your omega condition.”

Murphy shifted uncomfortably, looking away from her. He prefered avoid thinking about that. “What about it?” he said finally, when Abby didn’t continue on her own.

“The symptoms of your condition, as you know, are kept at bay by your monthly injection.” Abby looked back up again, lowering her pad to her side. “These injections maintain your hormones and stop you from experiencing your heat. If you were to miss an injection, it’s likely that you would go into heat soon after you were meant to receive your next dosage.”

“Yeah. I know that.” He crossed his arms, sneering at her.

She gave him a flat look, one fist going to her hip. “Murphy, you won’t have access to the injection once you arrive on the ground. I’m sending you with a six month supply, but following that, if the rest of us haven’t joined you, you’ll be on your own to deal with your heat.” Her face softened and she stepped forward, laying a hand gently on his arm. “It will be incredibly uncomfortable and also incredibly _dangerous._ You are the only one of the one hundred that is… afflicted, in this way.”

Murphy snatched his arm away. He knew the statistics. The arc had been working for years to cull omegas from the blood line. They presented a unique risk to the stability of the station. With such limited resources, it was dangerous to have breeders as potent as omegas on the ship. As it were, the punishment when an omega knowingly skipped a treatment was to be floated. They were entirely restricted from having children as a measure to prevent the continuation of their kind. It was yet another uncontrollable way Murphy had been fucked over. Alphas and betas were still allowed to procreate as usual.

“Murphy,” Abby said. “This is important.”

“In six months, you’ll be on the ground to keep me nice and sterile, doc, or we’ll all be dead and it won’t matter anyway.” He looked back up at her, mouth in a grim line. “So I guess I don’t need to worry.”

“I just want you to be aware of the possibilities,” Abby said patiently. “If you miss a treatment, you will go into heat. There’s no avoiding it. And when you do, you should know that there are alphas within the hundred. They will be able to tell and without their hormones under observation, they will likely…” She trailed off.

“Make me their bitch and breed me until I bleed,” Murphy finished crudely. “Got it.”

Abby nodded and placed a hand on his arm again. He didn’t yank away this time, and when she seemed certain that he was calm, she handed over a set of syringes with stoppers full of his medicine. “You’re probably right,” Abby said, pressing the packet into his hand. “We’ll be on the ground before you even have to use these.”

And maybe they would have been, if they hadn’t broken the bracelets and delayed the rest of the arc from joining them on the ground. The syringes themselves hadn’t made it through the landing anyway; Murphy found them shattered in his pocket after their landing and hadn’t thought of them since.

\---

He should have thought about it. He should have factored in his condition when he chose to destroy the bracelets for Bellamy, or when he did a hundred other things to prevent the colony on the arc from descending, but he didn’t. As much as he resented his hormone shots and the culture that had made them a necessity, he knew that he needed them. But life on the ground was distracting. For every positive aspect, there was a survival crisis that drew his attention away from his medical needs. How could he worry about his medicine when he needed to focus on not being murdered by the grounders, the climate, or his own fucking people? His heat wasn’t an immediate threat, and every time he remembered that it was something looming on the horizon, another disaster outweighed it.

He’d kind of always assumed that a heat wouldn’t be as bad as the doctors had claimed anyway. He would, what, be horny for a couple of days? Be irresistible to some of the people around him? Big deal.

But now that it was actually happening, he was rapidly becoming aware of what a big fucking deal it really was. The fever and the nausea and the itching under his skin that had been growing all day were verging on unbearable. Even with his clothes off, everything his skin touched felt like broken glass. He was overly sensitive in a way he had never been before. Moving hurt. Laying still hurt. And he couldn’t take off his underwear even sealed away in his tent, terrified to face the reality of his mutinous body.

It was like the awareness of what was happening to his body had unleashed the final floodgate. Every moment was misery. His tent always smelled like him and only him, which he usually took comfort in, but now it was only reminding him of how alone he was, how empty he was, how much he needed someone else now, now, _now._ He had already lost track of time, unsure if he’d been sealed away for minutes, hours, or even days.

He jolted violently as the sound of someone tugging at the flap of his tent. He was upright before he even realized he was moving, scrambling back to the corner furthest from the entrance like a scared animal. His heart was racing. He was afraid, he realized, afraid that whoever was outside was an invader, an intruder, someone who would hurt him.

“Murphy?” Mbege’s voice cut through the fabric walls and it made Murphy whine low in his throat. Mbege was his friend, but Mbege wasn’t right, shouldn’t be there. Murphy didn’t say a word.

“Murphy?” Mbege repeated, adamant this time. “Murphy, let me in. Are you okay? You smell…” His voice trailed off, and Murphy could hear him moving outside, pacing maybe, before he stopped again and tugged at the flap. “You smell good. Let me in.”

“No,” Murphy said, sharp.

“Murphy! Open the door,” Mbege said. Now his voice was coaxing, velvety smooth. “Please let me in.”

“No,” Murphy repeated.

“Murph-”

Murphy heard another person approach. They said something to Mbege, but Murphy couldn’t hear what they were saying. Then he heard the scuffle start, shuffling feet and growling, before the sounds of an all-out brawl.

Murphy put his hands over his ears and tried to mute it out, fear mixing in a noxious way with the arousal he couldn’t control. He shifted slowly onto his side, curling into a tight ball in an attempt to contain and protect himself.

He didn’t focus back on the noises outside the tent until he heard Bellamy shouting.

“Hey!” Bellamy barked, and it cut through Murphy’s haze like a knife, body twitching on the floor in a physical reaction to his arrival. “Mbege! Dax!”

The sound of the fighting stopped and all the voices outside lowered again. Murphy strained his ears to listen, unable to distinguish words. He could barely make out the specific tenor of Bellamy’s voice, but he focused on it as intently as possible. Something about it calmed the storm inside of him. Not fully, but enough that the pain eating into his raw nerves was lessened to an almost manageable level.

That didn’t stop him from jumping when someone tugged at his tent flap again, body once more jerking upright. The knots he had tied held, and there was a moment of silence before the person on the other side spoke up.

“Murphy.” It was Bellamy, and the roaring inside him calmed again. 

The moment of relief gave him enough clarity to decode the events going on outside. Mbege could smell him, which meant Mbege was an alpha. Murphy knew that Dax was, too, which meant that Dax had scented the same thing. Most likely, they had been fighting over him. Territory claim. And Bellamy - Bellamy was an alpha too. So Bellamy could smell it, and Bellamy interfered in the fight and stopped it, which meant he had was dominant over the other two, which-

Which Murphy liked. And the fact that he was so intune with Bellamy could only mean that the animal part of his brain, the part that was very firmly in the driver’s seat right now, had selected Bellamy as the alpha it most wanted.

Fuck.

“Murphy,” Bellamy repeated. 

Murphy closed his eyes against a shiver, gritting his teeth hard. This was a disaster. “What?” he hissed.

There was a long pause. “Are you okay?” Bellamy asked finally.

Murphy took a deep breath through his nose, another shiver wracking his body when he caught Bellamy’s scent. “No,” he snarled, digging his fingernails into the flesh of his calves to force himself to remain focused.

“What’s wrong?” Bellamy sounded so calm, so level, and it made Murphy want to cry.

“Sick,” he said finally.

There was another pause. “Can I come in? Check on you?”

“No,” Murphy said, immediate.

“Okay,” Bellamy said slowly, and Murphy wished he could see him, wanted to crawl over and let him in and keep him there until the bad feeling went away. “Murphy.”

“What?” Murphy pressed his face into his knees, trying to level out his breathing.

“I’m going to go get Clarke so she can check you out. I’ll be back in five minutes.”

“Don’t,” Murphy said. Well, begged. He didn’t want Clarke to see him, didn’t want anyone to.

“It’s not up for discussion,” Bellamy said firmly. “I’ll be right back.”

Murphy heard his footsteps trail away and groaned, pressing his hands over his ears again like that would make it not true that Bellamy was gone. The rational part of his brain was trying to point out that bringing Clarke could be a good thing. She was the closest thing that had to a doctor, and maybe she would have some kind of information that could make the pain stop. 

Focusing on that was the only thing that gave him the strength to pull his clothes back on. He put on his t-shirt and jeans, unable to will himself to dress any further or even button his pants, and in the time that took, Bellamy returned.

“Murphy, I’m back. Clarke’s here.”

“Hi,” Clarke said. Her voice was grating. He groaned, a fresh wave of fear overpowering his senses.

“She wants to come in and examine you. Will you let us in?”

Murphy swallowed and crawled to the tent flap slowly. He started working on the first knot, hands clumsy. It took longer than it should have to get the entrance open, and as soon as the last knot was undone, he crawled back into his corner, breathing heavy. Bellamy’s hand cut through the part in the tent, pulling back the door. He peeked inside first, and just seeing his face was enough to make Murphy keen in the back of his throat. The noise made Bellamy’s expression change immediately, eyes locking on Murphy’s face. His mouth fell open just a little and he took a deep breath of the musky air inside. He was still as a statue and the sudden tension in the air made Murphy feel like his entire body was vibrating.

Clarke disturbed the moment as she slid past Bellamy into the tent. “Hey, Murph, what’s going on?” Her face was a mixed portrait of concern and wariness. Mostly wariness.

Bellamy stepped in after her, letting the tent flap fall closed behind him. Murphy looked at him again, and Bellamy was still watching him intently, nostrils flaring.

“Murphy?”

Murphy looked back at Clarke, swallowing thickly. He could lie and say that he didn’t know, but he knew that wasn’t really an option. Not if he wanted her help.

“I’m in heat,” he said, blunt.

Clarke’s eyes widen and her mouth dropped open. “You’re-”

“An omega,” he said, tense. “Yes. Must have been time for a treatment. Don’t have any.”

Bellamy made a low noise that he seemed completely unaware of making. Murphy’s eyes snapped back to him, rocking his body in place just once. He could feel the teethers of his awareness snapping. He knew he would be lost in the fever again soon, and that it would be worse, and probably only get worse.

“I didn’t- my mother didn’t tell me that there was an omega in the group,” Clarke said, practically in awe. “Wow.”

Murphy didn’t say anything, unable to look away from Bellamy now that he was looking at him again.

Bellamy spoke to Clarke for him. “Is there anything you can do for him?” He didn’t look at her, eyes focused intently on Murphy. His eyes looked darker than usual, Murphy was pleased to notice. Maybe that meant he was feeling it too.

“Not really,” Clarke said, apologetic. “Once a heat starts you can’t really stop it. You just have to push through.”

“What do we do?” Bellamy looked away, finally, and back at Clarke. “There are alphas in the camp. I already had to break up a fight.”

Clarke took a long moment to reply, and when she spoke again, her voice was contemplative. “I don’t know a lot about omegas,” she said finally. “There aren’t a lot of them left, so we didn’t really study a lot about them beyond the historical. I know that once a heat starts, it can’t be stopped, like I said. They usually last three or four days-”

Here, Murphy interrupted her with a pained groan. He dropped his face back to his knees, stomach turning. He didn’t know if he could do this for days.

“Sorry, Murphy,” she said, voice going soft, before she continued. “Heats are notoriously dangerous, it’s another reason the council decided to wean out the omega population. Even if an omega picks an alpha to… help them, they could still die. Going through it alone…” She trailed off.

“What do we do?” Bellamy repeated, his voice hard. “We’re not going to let Murphy die.”

“I mean, Mbege and Dax wanted to help him out, right?” Clarke shrugged and looked at Murphy. “One of them could-”

“No,” Murphy and Bellamy said in sync.

“They don’t want to help him and they probably couldn’t.” Bellamy’s mouth curled down distastefully. “They were already frenzied at the smell of him.”

“Weak,” Murphy agreed, voice coming out raw. “No way.”

Clarke looked a little annoyed, which Murphy would absolutely be pissed about if he remembered it later. “Well, if he’s not going to mate with someone, then someone needs to take care of him. He’s not going to remember to eat or drink water, and he’s going to spend his entire heat with a fever and in incredible pain.”

“There’s got to be another option. Come on, Clarke,” Bellamy said quietly. “It hasn’t even been a day. Look at him, he’s suffering.”

“I’m right here,” Murphy groused.

“Sorry,” Bellamy said. His tone was kinder than usual and Murphy felt bizarrely comforted.

“There’s nothing else.” Clarke shrugged. “We’ll need to put a guard at his tent. Definitely not an alpha, they would be distracted. Then someone just needs to check in on him-”

“You said it was dangerous, right? That-” Bellamy cut off mid-sentence, and Murphy’s gaze focused in on his hands, where they were clenched white-knuckle against his thighs. “That he could die.”

“He could,” Clarke agreed.

“He would be okay if someone took care of him? Watched him, made him eat and drink?” Murphy looked up at his face slowly, taking note of the tense lines by his mouth, the way his jaw was clenched.

“I don’t know,” Clarke said honestly. “Probably? Most omega heat deaths are due to dehydration, but sometimes their bodies just give out. It’s a huge strain on their hearts and the fever can get too intense and cause some real damage. Especially if it’s the first heat and the omega is older-”

“Oh, so because you fucking mom has been sterilizing me for years, now I might die? Make that one more reason to hate her fucking guts,” Murphy snapped, looking over at Clarke sharply. It made him dizzy and he swayed to the side. He only stayed upright because Bellamy caught his arm, holding him steady.

“Murphy,” Clarke began, her tone hard, but she was cut off prematurely.

“I’ll take care of him,” Bellamy said. “I can look after him and guard him.”

Clarke barked a laugh. “Bellamy, you can’t just stay locked up in here for days. We need you in camp-”

“I’ll be here. If there’s an emergency, we can send someone else to look after him and I can handle it.” Bellamy was still holding his arm. The point of contact burned, and the longer his hand was there, the better Murphy felt. It was harder to keep track of the conversation, a haze clouding his mind.

“It’s not a good idea,” Clarke said firmly. “And, Bellamy… you’re an alpha.” Murphy saw her look at him and back at Bellamy pointedly. “Are you sure you can control yourself?”

“I’m fine,” Bellamy said, dry. He let go of Murphy’s arm and Murphy had to bite back a whine. “I can handle it. And if any other alpha comes knocking, I can handle them too.”

Clarke shook her head. “Fine. Just don’t do anything stupid. I’ll go get you supplies, you shouldn’t leave him.”

Bellamy nodded. “Thanks.” He watched her crawl out of the tent, and Murphy watched him watch her. He wanted to reach out and touch him, all of his nerves buzzing for contact, especially with an alpha. Especially with Bellamy.

Murphy should have known this would happen if he went into heat. He’d been pushing away feelings for Bellamy since the minute they landed and combine his… crush with his heat? No way he wouldn’t have ended up wanting Bellamy over any other alpha in the camp.

“Murphy,” Bellamy said, and it sounded like he may have said his name a few times at this point, an edge of concern in his voice.

“Huh?” Murphy focused on him again, ignoring the fresh wave of heat in his belly.

“I asked if you wanted to lay down. You look tired.” Bellamy smiled at him, half-hearted.

“I’m fine.” Murphy closed his eyes, leaning his face forward against his knees. “I’m just- fucking hot.”

He heard Bellamy swallow and shift on the crinkly material of the tent floor. “You should lay down.”

“I said I’m fine.” Murphy turned his head to glower at him. Bellamy gave him a flat look, and the thought that he might be displeasing Bellamy in some way made him want to whine. He shifted to lay down obediently before the noise could escape.

“Isn’t that better?” Bellamy asked, smug.

“I laid down because I wanted to, not because you told me to,” Murphy grumbled. He shifted uncomfortably, adjusting his pillow under his head. His skin was burning again, like fire licking at every nerve ending. His clothes hurt again, but there was no taking those off now. “Are you just like, going to sit here and watch me all day?”

“Guess so.” Bellamy shifted and leaned back on Murphy’s backpack, using it as a support.

The silence hung over them for a while. At some point, Clarke came by to drop off water and rations, as well as a pack of cold compresses from their medical kit. After she left, Bellamy broke one of the patches open and activated the cooling fibers before handing it to Murphy. Murphy put it on his head, clenching his teeth. The cold hurt too, but he knew it was important to keep his temperature down.

The silence settled again, and Murphy didn’t know how long he’d been laying there before he felt the need to speak up again. “I might act weird,” he said, words slurring a little. He hadn’t noticed how bad the dizziness had gotten again until he spoke. He whined, arching off of his blankets a little.

Bellamy took a moment to reply. “That’s okay.”

“I mean it.” Murphy turned his head slowly to look at him, licking his lips. “I- it hasn’t happened before, but. I know I’m gonna get. Really desperate and really squirmy and- shit.” He closed his eyes, embarrassment prickling his skin. “I might try to get some relief, you know what I mean? And I might not even know what I’m doing, but you should just- leave.” Because if it got that bad and Bellamy was still here, there was no way Murphy wasn’t going to crawl all over him.

“That’s okay,” Bellamy repeated.

“Just- promise you’ll get out of here and like, leave me in my shame or whatever.” Murphy twisted his head away, the motion turning into a full body roll. He pressed his hands over his stomach, huffing out an uneasy breath. “I know you don’t want to see me try to fist myself, so you’ll definitely-”

“Murphy.” Bellamy had shifted close enough to touch him and took his head between both of his hands, settling it on the pillow. He laid one hand over the compress on his forehead, the touch immediately soothing him. He went still, eyes drooping closed. He felt his muscles relaxed in a wave, from head to toe. “I know what’s going to happen. I’ve read books about it. Kind of needed to know about it.”

“Gonna be grosser in practice,” Murphy mumbled.

“I’ve never thought anything about it was gross,” Bellamy said, voice dropping an octave.

Murphy opened his eyes. Bellamy’s head was tipped over his. He was sitting criss-cross above Murphy’s pillow, both of his hands still gently laying on his cheek and forehead respectively. It was hard to see him at this angle, but he didn’t look like he was lying.

“You’re an alpha,” Murphy murmured, blinking up at him slowly.

Bellamy nodded, brushing his knuckles down Murphy’s jaw. That was a marking gesture, and it made Murphy shiver. He tipped his head to the side, baring his neck. Bellamy’s hand trailed down, his thumb pressing over Murphy’s pulse point. Murphy’s mouth fell open, a quiet noise escaping him unbidden.

“You’re safe with me,” Bellamy said quietly. “I’m not going to- do anything to you. I’m not gonna go feral on you, the way Mbege and Dax were.”

Big difference there, Murphy thought, was that he would very much like Bellamy to go all feral on him. He spoke without thinking, not recognizing the honey that coated his words. “I know,” he whispered, rolling his head back to expose his throat further. “You’re stronger than them. They’re weak.”

He heard Bellamy inhale sharply, his fingers trailing along his throat slowly. “Behave,” Bellamy said softly. “Don’t make it harder for me.”

“Is it hard?” Murphy tipped his head back a little more, looking up at him through his lashes. This was basic, bullshit flirting that Murphy would absolutely never resort to if he was totally cognizant. But he wasn’t, and he couldn’t help himself. Not when it might actually be getting a reaction from Bellamy.

“You smell good,” Bellamy admitted, his voice slow, almost drugged. “You always smell good, but it’s stronger. Doesn’t make it easy.”

“You think I always smell good?” Murphy grinned at him loosely. “I’m gonna remember that.”

Bellamy huffed a laugh. “I doubt you’ll remember anything.” He settled his hand on Murphy’s cheek again, pressing the cold pack against his forehead gently. “Try to sleep. It’ll be harder for you later.”

Murphy nodded a little in his hand. “Fine. But only because I want to.”

“Mmhm.” Murphy saw Bellamy smile before he closed his eyes. He felt okay, for now. He felt safe with Bellamy watching him, almost comfortable with Bellamy touching him. He was surprised by how easily he managed to fall asleep.

\---

He didn’t know how long he slept, but he woke up writhing on his bedroll. Pain was rolling through his body. The friction of his body twisting against the blankets felt like scratching just to the left of an itch. It was tantalizingly close to relief, but only served to increase his frustration. He was throbbing inside of his pants, his cock achingly hard. He shoved a hand down his pants without thinking, keening when his hands grazed his hard-on, but he didn’t stop there. He went further down to where he was slick and wet, shoving two fingers inside himself. It was too hard, making him jolt and wince. His briefs were soaked through, the fabric sticking uncomfortably to his thighs.

He pressed his fingers deep, twisting in a third even when the stretch was too sudden, feeling desperately empty. He didn’t realize that he was crying until he choked on a sob, squeezing his eyes shut as he worked.

Then he realized that Bellamy was there. Should be there. He snapped his eyes open, looking around the tent wildly. He wasn’t there, not at the head of his blankets or leaning against his pack or anywhere else in the tent. His arousal was overwhelmed by a flood of terror. He was vulnerable, he was alone, he was in danger.

He pulled his fingers out too quickly, scraping himself with a crooked nail, and scrambled back into the corner of his tent, curling up in a tight ball with his knees hugged protectively to his chest. Where was Bellamy? He needed him. He was alone. He was in danger. Where was Bellamy? He needed him.

The flap of his tent was pulled back, and Monty peeked his head in with a smile that immediately dropped when he saw Murphy’s posture. Murphy began growling, low in his throat, instinctively trying to sound dangerous. Monty wasn’t an alpha. Murphy hadn’t known that before, but he knew now, could smell it on him. He was a beta, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous.

“Murphy, hey.” Monty held up an open palm in a peaceful gesture, his brows furrowed. “I’m guarding your tent. Bellamy had to go deal with something at the gate-”

Murphy snarled, baring his teeth. He couldn’t quell his reactions. He didn’t even realize that they were too extreme for the situation, fully launched into a fight-or-flight response. “Get out!” he snapped, voice gravelly.

“He’ll be back soon-”

“Out!” Murphy shouted. Monty dropped the flap immediately, disappearing back outside. Murphy scooted further into the corner, breathing hard, eyes locked on the doorway. Another threat could enter at any moment. He had to pay attention, he had to be ready.

The next time the flap opened, it was Bellamy. “Murphy-”

Murphy growled at him too, even though just the sight of him was enough to make him relax. But he was still angry that Bellamy had left at all. Murphy had trusted him and he wasn’t there. He said as much, voice catching on the final word.

Bellamy slid into the tent, dropping to his knees. “I’m _sorry_ ,” he whispered, eyes wide and guilty. “I’m sorry, I should have stayed. The scouts came back and needed to talk to me, I wasn’t far-”

“You weren’t _here_ ,” Murphy repeated. He was crying again. He could taste the salt on his face.

“I’m sorry- come here.” Bellamy offered out his arms and Murphy flew across the tent immediately, locking his arms around his neck. Bellamy pulled him in tight, one hand guiding Murphy’s face to his throat. Murphy inhaled deeply, moaning at the scent of him. He nuzzled close, rubbing his face against Bellamy’s exposed skin to coat himself in the scent. Bellamy was still apologizing on repeat, rocking Murphy’s trembling body in his lap.

Murphy didn’t know how long it took for him to calm down, body eventually going pliant against Bellamy’s. He settled with his nose pressed against the delicate, fragrant skin beneath Bellamy’s ear. Bellamy was still rubbing his back, providing enough physical contact to keep the pain at bay, at least in the weak period following his fear-panic.

“Don’t leave again,” Murphy mumbled. “Anyone could have come in. Mbege. Dax. Could have mated me.”

“No,” Bellamy said, sharp. He squeezed him, face pressing into Murphy’s hair. Murphy could feel his warm breath. He nuzzled into the touch. “I would kill them. They wouldn’t even try.”

“The could have. I was asleep. I’m _weak_ -”

“You’re not weak.” Bellamy leaned back, holding Murphy’s jaw in one hand to direct his eyes, staring him down. “You’re _strong._ You wouldn’t let them.” He pressed his thumb against Murphy’s lower lip. Murphy licked it timidly, then gently sucked the tip when he wasn’t reprimanded, pleasure washing over him at the taste. “You’re not theirs.”

“Yours,” Murphy mumbled around his finger, touching the side of Bellamy’s neck with a hot palm.

Bellamy made a low noise, pressing their foreheads together. “Not theirs.”

Murphy nodded a little, careful not to release his thumb. Bellamy brushed their noses together gently, letting out a shaky breath. They stayed like that for a while, Murphy’s eyes drooping closed.

Eventually Bellamy leaned back slowly, breaking off their points of contact one by one. “You need to eat. Have some water.” He took his thumb away, grimacing a little when it made Murphy whine.

Murphy caught his hand quickly, pressing it back to his cheek. “I’m not hungry.”

“You haven’t eaten today,” Bellamy said, his voice careful and level. “You didn’t eat breakfast or lunch and it’s nearly sunrise. You have to eat.”

“I’m not _hungry_ ,” Murphy repeated, squeezing Bellamy’s hand.

“But you’re going to eat. For me.” Bellamy tipped his head down, leveling him with a hard stare.

Murphy made a low sound and lowered his eyes. He tipped his head to the side and Bellamy stroked a hand over his throat gently. Murphy sighed, skin tingling pleasantly where Bellamy touched him.

Bellamy rearranged them in the tent, sitting with Murphy leaning back against his chest. He opened one of the rations Clarke had brought for them and fed Murphy pieces of salted meat and chalky bread by hand. For every bite Murphy took, he spent a moment licking Bellamy’s fingers just to taste him. Bellamy allowed it, stopping him occasionally to coax him into drinking from their canteen. They went on that way until the food was gone.

When the food was gone and Bellamy was allowing Murphy to lean back against him and suckle on his fingers, Murphy noticed something. He could feel Bellamy where he was leaning against him, could feel how hard he was. But Bellamy wasn’t doing anything about it.

Murphy tipped his head back, nuzzling against Bellamy’s throat. “You’re taking good care of me,” he murmured. “By the book, good alpha. Mine.” He pressed a kiss to Bellamy’s jaw, lifting a hand to cradle his cheek.

Bellamy stilled, breathing slowing down. Murphy nuzzled closer, scenting him. He was interested, Murphy could smell it all over him, feel it. “Bellamy,” he purred, trying to shift to turn in his lap. Bellamy caught him, putting both hands over Murphy’s stomach to anchor him in place. Murphy whined instinctively.

“Stop,” Bellamy said softly.

“Why?” Murphy wiggled back against him, trying to press as close as he could and maybe spur Bellamy on. Because he wanted him, _needed_ him. The itch was coming back and he needed Bellamy to soothe it, to fill him up, to fix him-

“Because- be _still_ ,” Bellamy growled, and much to Murphy’s frustration, his body went limp immediately, head falling to the side. Bellamy took a deep breath and leaned his head down, nuzzling into Murphy’s throat. “Because,” he repeated, voice measured, “You’re in heat. You’re not yourself.” Murphy may have been imagining it, but he thought he felt Bellamy’s tongue, warm and wet, brush against his throat. It took everything in him not to squirm again.

“I am in heat. I need you.” Murphy covered Bellamy’s hands with his own, pressing them harder into his stomach. “It _hurts._ I feel- _empty_ and like I’m on fire and I’m- I’m going crazy, Bellamy. I need you, you can _fix_ it.”

“I can’t, Murphy.” Bellamy leaned away from his neck and Murphy whined, craning to chase the contact. “You’re not thinking clearly. If- if we’d talked about it before your heat, negotiated something-”

“Bellamy, you can. You can fix me.” He turned his head, pressing open-mouthed kisses against his throat. “Please. _Please._ ”

“I’m not going to do that. You can’t consent like this, there are books written about how dangerous this is-”

“Bellamy, _please._ ” He guided one of Bellamy’s hands down to his thigh, trembling at the sensation, and pressed the other one low on his stomach. “You can make me feel good. I want you to, Bellamy, I want you to fill me up. Please-”

Bellamy tugged his hands away and scooted away quickly. The removal of all contact nearly made Murphy scream. He rolled to his hands and knees to pursue him, arms collapsing under him before he could move an inch. He was still too weak from the fever, the food not doing much to fortify him. 

“Murphy- be careful.” Bellamy sounded distraught from where he was watching him across the tent, but he didn’t move forward to help. It made Murphy angry, pride bruised. He shifted up on his elbows, tipping his head up just enough to glare at Bellamy. Bellamy didn’t look happy either, his brows furrowed and his hands curled into fists against the floor.

“You’re being an ass,” he hissed. He sat up slowly, limbs uncoordinated and heavy. “You don’t want me. You’re not a good alpha, you’re not helping me.” He glanced to the side at the door of the tent, heart thrumming wildly in his chest. “Someone will help me-” He launched towards the door.

Bellamy was there in an instant, catching him before he could go rolling out to the rest of camp. “Stop,” he demanded, but this time Murphy thrashed in his arms, snarling.

“I’m in pain! It hurts and you won’t help me! You don’t want me!” He tried to tug away from his arms, but Bellamy held onto him easily.

“I want you!” Bellamy snapped. He threw him back towards his bedroll and shifted to block the exit, posture defensive.

Murphy scrambled against his blankets and sat upright, panting. “You don’t want me! Someone else will, someone else-”

“No!” Bellamy shook his head. “No one else.”

“I’m not yours! You won’t have me-”

“Because I won’t rape you,” Bellamy hissed. Those words cut through the haze in Murphy’s mind and he recoiled, panting. They stared at each other from across the tent, and Murphy could see the way Bellamy was trembling with repressed energy, his mouth open to scent the air.

Bellamy did want him. But he wouldn’t take him because- because he thought he wouldn’t want it? But Murphy wanted him. He wanted him so bad he could cry.

Murphy collapsed back on his ass, fight leaving his body. Fresh tears rose, his emotions whipping around too quickly for him to tame. “But I want you,” he whispered. “Bellamy. Bellamy, I _hurt_.”

“I know.” Bellamy sat back too, body still tense. “But that’s the heat. Nothing you’re doing right now is- is you. Your mind is being… invaded, by your hormones.”

“I like you,” Murphy whispered honestly, and felt it when the tears started flowing. “I want you.”

Bellamy just nodded a little, misery written in every line of his face. “I want you.”

“You can have me,” Murphy said, desperation coloring the words.

“Not like this.” Bellamy shook his head.

A silence descended. It hovered around them, filling the limited space of the tent. Beyond it, Murphy could hear the sounds of the camp. It reminded him that there was still life outside of the cell of his body, the prison of his tent. That it would be there after.

“I don’t want to die,” Murphy said finally.

“I won’t let you.”

“Then- what are we going to do?” Murphy lifted his shirt, scrubbing the tears from his face. “It’s- it’s fucking agony, Bellamy. No one… no one told me it would be this bad.”

The question hung in the air for a moment. “What hurts?” Bellamy asked.

“Everything.”

“I know,” Bellamy soothed. “But what specifically? What makes it worse? Does the light hurt?”

Murphy shook his head, swallowing. “Clothes. I feel- they itch, it’s like steel wool.”

Bellamy nodded once. “You can take them off. Do blankets hurt?”

Murphy shook his head again. “Not as much.”

“Alright.”

Bellamy helped rearrange his bed while he got undressed, then tucked him carefully under the lightest, softest blanket he could find. He took up his post at the head of his bed again, cracking open another cold compress for Murphy’s feverish head. Bellamy held it in place, cupping his neck with his other hand. His touch was achingly gentle.

“Is this it?” Murphy asked after a while.

“Is it better?”

“A little.” Murphy squirmed a little, huffing out an uneasy breath. The one downside to being free of his damp clothes was that the exposure to air reminded him of how aroused he was. He felt emptier than ever, body begging to be filled.

“What would make it better?”

“You.” Murphy opened his eyes to look up at him.

Bellamy smiled ruefully. “No.”

Murphy hissed, twisting his head to the side. Bellamy guided his head back to center gently, thumb pressing against his pulse point. It made him sigh, eyes dipping closed again.

“You can touch yourself,” Bellamy murmured. “If that would help.”

Murphy swallowed, hand trailing down to his belly. “It won’t be enough.”

“Will it help?”

He looked up at Bellamy again, licking his lips, and trailed his hand down, pressing one finger experimentally at his damp entrance. The pressure felt nice, made him shiver. “Maybe,” he allowed.

“Do it then.” Bellamy smiled tightly. “Go ahead.”

Murphy let out a slow breath, lifting his free hand to cover Bellamy’s on his throat. “Tell me how.”

“You know how.” Bellamy huffed a laugh.

“Tell me anyway.”

Bellamy stared down at him, thumb rubbing gently against the delicate tendon in his neck. “Okay,” he murmured. “Is your hand on your cock?”

Murphy shook his head a little, careful not to disturb Bellamy’s touch. If that’s all he could get, he didn’t want to lose it. “No. Touching my hole.” He sounded crude as fuck, he knew that, but he wasn’t a wordsmith, and what he was doing was dirty, anyway.

“Good,” Bellamy breathed. He closed his eyes for a moment, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “Are you wet?”

“Yeah,” Murphy said, voice cracking. “‘M so fucking wet.”

“Put a finger in. Just one, be gentle.”

Murphy whimpered and did as he was told, pressing one finger into himself slowly. It went easily, his body ready for so much more than he could give it. He swallowed, curling his finger carefully.

“How’s that feel?” Bellamy murmured.

“Good.” He licked his lips, pressing his hips down. “Not enough.”

“You can do another one. Don’t hurt yourself.” The hand holding the cold compress moved down, cupping his jaw instead.

Murphy went slow like Bellamy wanted him to, whining at the addition. He rocked down into the touch, toes curling. It still wasn’t enough, but it was better. He spread his fingers, hiccuping around another small sound. “Bellamy-”

“That’s good. You’re doing good.” Bellamy’s thumb stroked his cheek tenderly. “Don’t add another one yet. Just make yourself feel good like this. Doesn’t it feel good?”

“Yes,” he whispered. He focused on the feeling, nose crinkling when he found the spot inside of him that made his body clench with pleasure. He kept his eyes closed, doing his best to imagine that Bellamy’s fingers were inside him instead. It wasn’t enough, but it was enough to take the edge off the pain. He could get lost in this, maybe, it he tried hard enough.

Bellamy made him make himself come three times before the itch abate enough for him to sleep. Bellamy took away his blanket and gently cleaned him up before tucking him in again with a different blanket. Outside, the sun was rising. Bellamy lifted him up so that he could drink water before he slept, making him drain nearly the whole canteen before he laid him back down.

“You need to get some rest while you can,” Bellamy said quietly. He was sitting beside him again, one hand gently stroking his hair away from his face. “It’ll probably be bad again when you wake up. But we’ll get you through it, okay?”

Murphy nodded, staring up at him. He felt rung out, his whole body lax and weak. His mind felt clear though, beyond the haze of pleasure and temporary relief. “Why are you taking care of me?” he asked, knowing that he sounded rude and not particularly caring.

“You’re my second.” He gave his ear a gentle tug. “I couldn’t keep things going without you. I need someone to make me look good.” He flashed an arrogant smile down at him.

Murphy huffed a laugh, swatting his hand away weakly. “That sounds right. Bet you’re wishing you let the mob hang me about now. Didn’t know what a pain in the ass I would be, right?”

“I knew you would be a pain in the ass since day one.” Bellamy rolled his eyes, catching his hand. He lowered it back down to his chest. “I’m glad I cut you down. It was the right thing to do.” He patted his hand. “Now settle down. Sleep.”

“Maybe I don’t _want_ to sleep.” Murphy shifted a little, restless regardless of how sleepy he felt.

“Go to fucking sleep.” Bellamy pressed a hand on his chest, holding him in place.

“Are you just going to sit there and watch me?”

“That was the plan.” Bellamy shrugged a shoulder.

Murphy huffed a laugh and shifted slowly to the side. Bellamy eased the hand on his chest, letting him turn over. “Come on. Sleep with me.”

“Murphy,” Bellamy warned.

“Bellamy.” Murphy patted the space beside him.

“It’s not a good idea.”

“I’m not asking you to fuck me.” He settled on his side, closing his eyes. He waited to see what Bellamy would do, nervous energy building in his chest. Bellamy didn’t reply and the silence hung in the air for long enough that Murphy was sure he wouldn’t comply.

And then he felt Bellamy shift down onto the blankets behind him. One of his arms came around his body, pulling him snugly against his chest. His chin hooked over Murphy’s shoulder, nose pressing against his throat. Murphy made a pleased sound, hugging Bellamy’s arm to his chest.

“This doesn’t change what I said,” Bellamy murmured. “Nothing else is happening here.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Murphy nuzzled back against him. “Shut up if you want me to sleep.”

Bellamy did, and Murphy slept.

\---

The next two days were agonizing. Every time Murphy woke up, it was in a haze of pain, spurred on by an arousal that couldn’t be abated. Bellamy stuck true to his word; he never mated him, no matter how much pain Murphy was in, and no matter how much he begged.

Instead, he spent the next forty-eight hours guiding Murphy through pleasuring himself. He held him close while he fingered himself, pressed careful kisses to his throat to soothe him through almost unbearable swells that no amount masturbation would cure, and made him drink or eat when his head was clear enough to focus on anything other than chasing a satisfaction that wouldn’t come.

The final night was the worst. At that point, Murphy had given up all pretense of dignity. He couldn’t bare to have a blanket over his body. He was writhing against his blankets, four fingers buried to the knuckle inside of himself and still, it wasn’t enough. He was weeping with it, tears so hot he felt like they should be steaming as they hit the open air. Bellamy was still there, holding his head and shoulders in his lap with a cold compress secured against his fevered head, his other hand anchoring him down against the ground to keep him from thrashing and potentially exhausting or injuring himself.

“Bellamy- Bellamy, _please_ ,” he whined. He was staring up at Bellamy, his face a blur through his tears. This wasn’t new; he’d been begging him for hours. He was furious at him, furious that he wouldn’t make the pain stop. He was scared of him, scared of the power that Bellamy possessed over him, because even when he wasn’t giving Murphy the touch he needed, he was still the only thing keeping him alive. He wanted to escape him and get closer all at the same time. He loved him and he _hated_ him and he would do anything to make him make it stop.

“I’m right here,” Bellamy said. His voice was raw with emotion. Murphy knew it wasn’t easy for him. He could smell Bellamy’s body responding to his, the way his scent had become heavy and oppressive. He felt the tension in his body, could see the muscles flexed in his arms as he restrained himself. Murphy knew he could make him crack, could feel it in his bones that if he just said the right thing, Bellamy would finally give into him.

“I want to feel you,” Murphy cooed, voice cracking desperately. “It’s not enough, I can’t do it. I’m gonna die, Bellamy, it _hurts_.”

“You’re okay. You’re strong,” Bellamy said, repeating a mantra he had been playing on repeat over the last few hours. “It’s almost over, baby. You’re almost there.”

“I’m not gonna make it- I need you.” He reached up, pawing uselessly at Bellamy’s face until he managed to tangle his fingers in his hair. “Come on, Bell, come on. I need it. I want it. I want you to- to knot me.” He hiccuped over the words, body arching up. He twisted his fingers inside himself with a gasp. He could imagine how good it would feel, knew that it would be just what he needed to make it all end. “Fuck me, Bell. Come on, please. _Please_.”

“No,” Bellamy said, the word barely escaping through his gritted teeth.

“Come on.” He tugged at his hair, probably too hard, pulling him down closer, straining to break away from the hand anchoring him to the floor at the same time. “Make me yours, Bell. Show everyone else who I belong to. No one else will ever try to touch me if you mark me now.”

“No,” Bellamy repeated. He shoved him down to the ground again, body hunched over him. Murphy could see him now, tears no longer blinding him at such a close range. He could see that Bellamy was crying too, his teeth bared in a reflection of Murphy’s agony. Murphy let go of his hair to paw at his face again, letting out a high-pitched whine. Bellamy’s pain hurt him, too.

“You’re hurting. You’re hurting, let me make it better.” Murphy brushed his fingers clumsily along Bellamy’s mouth. “I can make you feel good. Let me make you feel good.” He arched up, managing to graze a brief kiss across Bellamy’s mouth before Bellamy slammed him against the ground again. He yelped, the fingers he had wedged inside himself sliding free as his body was jarred by the impact. He hurried to shove them back in, whimpering at the loss even though it wasn’t what he wanted or what he needed. “Bellamy, please, I want you. I promise I want you-”

“No.” Bellamy squeezed his eyes closed, the hand not anchoring Murphy to the ground brushing gently down his throat. “No, Murphy. I’m sorry- I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, just do it- come here.” Murphy curled his fingers in Bellamy’s shirt, tugging weakly. “Don’t you want to? Don’t you want to knot me, Bell? Don’t you want to fill me up- put a baby in me?”

Bellamy made a low, dark sound, his fingers curling on Murphy’s chest. That was it, then, that was the ticket.

“Come on, Bellamy,” he murmured, voice going velvety. This was it, this had to be it. “Fuck me, Bellamy. Come in me, mark me up, outside and inside. Make sure it works, make sure you get a baby in me.” He tugged at his shirt. “Come here, Bell. Knock me up. Don’t you wanna see it? Don’t you want to see me swell up, get all round and big with your baby? I want it. I wanna have your baby, please.” He removed his fingers from himself, whimpering at the loss, only to grab Bellamy’s hand from the center of his chest, pulling it down to his stomach. “Put it right here. Give me my baby, Bell, give me our baby. We’ll have the first baby in the camp. It’ll fucking rule the earth. _Our_ baby. Come on, Bellamy, come on-”

Bellamy’s hand sealed over Murphy’s mouth, shutting him up. The hand Murphy had guided away slid back up to his chest, anchoring him to the ground. “Stop,” he whispered, voice breaking. “I can’t. You know I can’t.”

Murphy bit his palm weakly, not interested in hurting Bellamy but needing to fight back. His tears started again in earnest and he kicked against the blankets, trying to break free. Now he wanted it too, more than he had before. Now he hurt and he was _mourning_ , mourning the baby Bellamy wouldn’t let him have.

“It’s almost over, Murph. We’re almost done.” Bellamy stroked his thumb across his cheek soothingly. “Fuck, it’s almost over. You just gotta make it a little longer and you’ll feel better, okay? I’m sorry.” He swallowed a sob. Murphy saw his face clench up with it, his brows furrowed tight. “I’m so sorry, baby, I’m so sorry. I want to. I want to give you a baby. I want to. I want to.”

Murphy squeezed his eyes shut and dug his teeth deeper into Bellamy’s palm. He moved his hand back down, fingering himself again. The desperation had gone out of him, the agony dulled by sorrow. He fingered himself until he came anyway, then did it again and again until he couldn’t anymore and unconsciousness overcame him.

\---

When Murphy woke up again, it was the first time he’d felt like himself in days. He blinked awake slowly, eyes matted closed with dried tears. He lifted a hand to scrub his eyes, making a quiet, disgusted sound at the scent of his fingers. He need a bath. He smelled awful.

Once he managed to open his eyes properly, he looked up to find that Bellamy was still sitting stalwart at his head. He was sleeping sitting up, hunched protectively over Murphy. One of his hands still laid on his chest, though more as a caress than as a restraint now. The other was gently curled in his hair. His head was bowed forward, mouth clenched closed in an uneasy sleep.

Murphy lurched up slowly, every muscle exhausted. He grabbed the nearest blanket, pulling it over his naked lap. His movement woke Bellamy up, the other man jerking upright. His eyes were immediately alert, looking over Murphy in a rapid assessment of his state.

“Easy.” Murphy waved a hand at him, looking away. “Take your alpha pants off. I’m me again.”

Murphy expected a sigh of relief and a hasty retreat. Instead, he was wrapped in an immediate, strong hug, Bellamy’s face pressing into his neck. “You’re okay,” Bellamy said, his voice muffled.

Murphy didn’t move for a long moment, stunned, before his lifted a hand to cup the back of Bellamy’s head, tipping his own head down to breath him in. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I’m fine.”

Bellamy leaned back after a moment, taking hold of Murphy’s upper arms and giving him another once over before meeting his eyes. He looked incredibly guilty, as guilty as he had looked after he cut Murphy from the tree. Maybe more so. And he looked sad. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t…”

Murphy shook his head, clapping a hand against Bellamy’s leg gently. “No. You were trying to be good to me. I get it.”

“I was,” Bellamy agreed, ardent. “I didn’t want to… take advantage. You were vulnerable and… desperate for relief. I didn’t know if you wanted me or you just wanted the pain to go away.”

Murphy nodded a little, refusing to look away from him. “I didn’t just want the pain to go away.”

Bellamy frowned a little, nodding once. “No?”

“No.” Murphy smirked at him briefly and looked away. “All I want now is food and a shower. Maybe a new tent, this one fucking reeks.”

“We can make that happen,” Bellamy promised, squeezing his arms gently.

\---

Bellamy gave Murphy permission to leave camp and bathe in a stream nearby after Murphy complained about being way too disgusting for a rinse-bucket to cut it. Monty and Jasper accompanied him to make sure he didn’t get attacked while he was washing up. Neither of them mentioned his… sabbatical, which was a pleasant surprise. Instead, they caught him up on the camp gossip. Nothing earth shattering had happened, but it seemed that the people on the arc were becoming more desperate than ever to get to the ground.

So just the usual, then.

Murphy scrubbed himself down with sand from the river floor, relieved to wash away days of sweat and dried cum and dried slick. He ducked under the water to scrub his face and hair too, releasing all the dirty knots that had built up in the strands. He needed a haircut. He considered finding scissors when he got back, or maybe just someone with a sharp knife and a steady hand. 

When he finally emerged from the river, he felt like a new man. He felt strong again, his sense of self returning. It was solidified on the walk back to camp, the entirety of which he spent eating jerky and bickering with Jasper about something he didn’t actually care about. He just argued to be argue, settling comfortably back into the shoes of the contrarian.

When they reached camp, Murphy parted ways with Monty and Jasper to go check on the progress of the smokehouse. His guess would be that without him there to keep them on track, not much would have been done.

He was nearly there when someone stepped abruptly into his path, slamming into him with a solid shoulder hard enough to knock him to his ass. He caught himself on his hands, looking up at the person who had gotten in his way. It was Dax, an ugly smile twisting his face.

“Sorry. Did I get in your way, bitch?”

Murphy reacted before he had time to think, fueled by anger. He lifted a foot and kicked Dax swiftly in the knee. It made him stumble back and in the time it took him to get solidly back to his feet, Murphy had lurched back to his feet, his knife in hand. He focused on Dax’s movements. Dax huffed a laugh, pulling out his own knife, squaring up. Murphy made himself wait for Dax to make the next move, and he did, lunging towards Murphy. Murphy sidestepped and turned, kicking him in the back of the same knee he had before. It made his leg buckle and with the momentum of his attack, he went flying across the ground. Before he could get himself to his feet, Murphy scrambled after him, pinning him to the ground with his knees and his knife to his throat.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” He snapped.

“Hey, Murph-”

“Call me a bitch again,” Murphy pressed the knife down until it cut into his throat. Just barely, just enough to make him bleed.

“Murphy!” It was Clarke, pushing her way through the crowd that had gathered around their scuffle.

“This doesn’t concern you, princess.” He didn’t look away from Dax, refusing to break eye contact. Dax’s eyes dark, his scent heavy with fury. 

“Get off him, Murphy-”

“Let them settle this.” This time it was Bellamy, approaching from the other side of the crowd.

“Bellamy, he’s been sick-”

“He looks like he’s handling himself just fine,” Bellamy interrupted.

Murphy clenched his jaw, dying to look at Bellamy. He resisted, staring Dax down still. He dug his knee into Dax’s stomach, eliciting a cough from him. “Call me a bitch again,” he repeated.

Dax grit his teeth. “It’s what you are,” he snapped.

Murphy huffed a laugh through his nose, smirking. “Then I guess you take orders from a bitch.” He pulled the knife away from his throat, wiping it on Dax’s shirt casually. “Get in my way again and I’ll cut your fucking throat.” He pushed himself to his feet, rubbing the index finger of his knife hand under his nose. He was still staring down at him and Dax eventually looked away, turning over to crawl to his feet. He shoved his way through the crowd to escape.

Murphy looked up at the rest of the gathered delinquents, arching a brow. “What are you looking at? Don’t you all have shit to do?”

The crowd disperse. Murphy tucked his knife back into his pocket, brushing off his clothes. Figured. He managed to take a real bath and someone immediately shoved him into the mud.

Bellamy approached him as everyone else left, giving him a nod. “You alright?”

“Dirty and pissed about it, but fine.” Murphy shrugged, looking up at him. Bellamy looked him over slowly, before nodding again.

“Good. I’m glad.” He lifted a hand like he was going to touch Murphy’s arm before dropped it awkwardly back to his side. He cleared his throat. “Let me know. If you need anything else. Extra rations or something.”

Murphy arched a brow at him, nodding slowly. “Alright,” he agreed.

Bellamy nodded again and headed off towards the drop ship. Murphy watched him for a moment before returning to his own work.

\---

Murphy returned to his tent after dinner that night. There hadn't been any more problems from anyone that day, but there had been stares, which he expected. The entire camp knew about his _condition_ now and he didn't doubt that there would be more questions and conflicts in his future. But he would handle that as it came.

His tent smelled different. It seemed like it had been aired out, and all of his blankets had been replaced with new ones he didn't recognize.

He flopped down on them, tired from his day but restless. He rolled onto his stomach and buried his face in his pillow, determined to rest up so he could take on the next day and any fucker who had decided that he wasn't fit to be in charge.

But his pillow smelled like Bellamy. In fact, all of his new blankets smelled like Bellamy. He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes as an immediate comfort flowed through him.

Less than thirty seconds later, he was on his feet and out of his tent. In less than five, he was outside of Bellamy’s tent, clenching and unclenching his fists nervously. This, he realized, was a defining moment. He still had the time to turn away, go back to his tent, and continue on as if the last few days had never happened. He could return to his position as right-hand man, pretend that nothing had changed, until his next heat arrived and the cycle repeated. Or…

Or.

He pulled back the flap of Bellamy’s tent, ducking his head inside. Bellamy was sitting inside, a lantern lit in the corner. His tent was mostly bare, one blanket and an honestly pathetic pillow acting as his bed. He was sitting on the blanket in his pants and boots, shirt and jacket tossed over his pack beside the lantern. He had a paperback book in hand, a book on Greek mythology that he had smuggled down from the arc with him, Murphy knew. He looked up at the intrusion, mouth falling open in surprise before he clenched his jaw, face going stoic. “Murphy. What’s wrong?”

Murphy glanced over his shoulder before sliding into the tent. “Did you give me all of your blankets?” He knelt on the floor beside him, brow arching.

“For now. Yours are in laundry rotation tomorrow-”

Murphy cut him off, grabbing him by the nape of the neck to pull him into a strong kiss. Bellamy made a noise against his mouth in surprise, and Murphy pulled back. “Murphy-”

“I hereby consent to you having your way with my entire body, since you’re too much of a fucking pussy to listen when I’m literally creaming my pants-”

Murphy muffled a laugh as Bellamy lunged at him, pulling him into a messy kiss. Murphy shoved back against him, clambering clumsily into his lap. Bellamy didn’t break the kiss until he was breathless, panting into the small space between them. “I didn’t want to-”

“I like you,” Murphy said, wrinkling his nose as the words came out. It felt juvenile as it left his mouth. He cupped Bellamy’s cheek. “You’re irritating as shit, you’ve got a big fucking head, and you’ve got a real God complex but-”

“You’re one to talk. Have you ever learned how to filter yourself? Do you get off on making every situation worse? That one is a real question, because ever since we landed, it’s like you try your hardest to make every problem a crisis-”

“Says the man who threw our only link to our colony into the river because he _literally_ tried to murder a guy to babysit his sister, and almost killed Raven-”

“We fixed the radio! And it was your idea to kill Raven-”

“And I didn’t actually kill her. You let a mob drag me through the forest-”

“That was Clarke’s fault. And sort of yours, who carves their initials into a knife? That’s like begging someone to frame you for a murder-”

“Okay, fuck _you_ , I take it back.” Murphy leaned back, energy rushing through him. It felt good to bicker, to snap back and forth with each other. “I don’t like you-”

“You do like me.” Bellamy smirked, leaning after him. “Can’t take that back.”

“Fuck you.” Murphy looped his arms around his neck, nipping his lip briefly. “You’re an jerk, you’re just nice to look at.”

“Could say the same thing about you.” Bellamy chased him forward, pressing into another kiss. This one was slower, and Bellamy slid his hands beneath Murphy’s shirt. He pulled away after a moment, keeping close. “I like you.”

Murphy gave him another brief kiss, hands twisting into his hair. “Thank you. For the last few days,” he murmured, trying to convey how much he meant it. “And for not interfering today. With Dax. For not going all alpha.”

“I don’t need to.” Bellamy brushed their noses together lightly. “You can take care of yourself. I’m- honored. That I got to look after you while you couldn’t.”

Murphy gave him another kiss, deeply pleased. He had never wanted someone who felt like he couldn’t take care of himself, but having someone who was happy to take care of him when he truly needed it? That was… more than appealing. “Next time,” Murphy murmured, because there would be a next time. Now, without his meds, his heat would come around every three months until he was pregnant or infertile. And he would be prepared. “I want you with me.”

Bellamy’s hands smoothed down his sides and to his thighs, where they squeezed firmly. “I was with you.”

“I want you to be my mate.” Murphy dragged his nails down Bellamy’s chest slowly. “No more manly restraint. I consent very firmly. I want to fuck you for days.” He brushed their noses, watching Bellamy’s eyes darken. “If you want to, that is,” he mocked quietly.

Bellamy’s hands tightened on his legs, dragging him closer. “I want to.”

“Good. Now let’s make up for that missed opportunity, shall we?”

Bellamy kissed him and Murphy let himself get lost in it, happy to finally get what he’d wanted, even if it was days too late.

**Author's Note:**

> so this is essentially a fic that i wrote on a whim because i hit a roadblock in the middle of "i am mad all about you" and needed a palate cleanser. i basically fucked with the plot of the first season as much as i wanted to with very little explanation of how everything happened, but how i imagine it is that everything was the exact same until the events with murphy following wells' death. instead of being a bystander, bellamy listened to murphy and cut him down instead of kicking the box, was on murphy's side re:charlotte being punished but was able to actually convince murphy NOT to try to murder her since he stopped murphy's hanging himself. and i willfully ignored the fact that everyone in space would be absolutely dead after a month of the delinquents being on earth. i really had to let some stuff fall through the cracks, or this would have become a series instead of a one-shot. all of that being said, i hope u like it and aren't mad that i managed to write an a/b/o where they never actually fuck.
> 
> i would also write a sequel where they do fuck. if anyone wants that.
> 
> this is very unbeta'd so ignore any mistakes like i ignored a logical timeline.
> 
> title from "medicine" by harry styles.
> 
> find me on tumblr at [noodletastic](https://noodletastic.tumblr.com).


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